The Master's Apprentice - Oliver Potzsch Page 0,215

already told me.”

“No.” Valentin shook his head. “You’re here because it looks as if Gilles de Rais has returned.”

Johann froze. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as if an evil beast had entered the hall.

Had he heard right?

Gilles de Rais has returned . . .

“How can you say that—” he started.

“Of course, he hasn’t actually returned.” Valentin gestured dismissively. “I know the monster has been dead for seventy years. But his atrocities are happening again, now, here at Nuremberg. And no one knows who might be behind them.”

Wolfgang von Eisenhofen pushed a document toward Johann. About two dozen names were written on the paper. “These are the names of Nuremberg children who have gone missing in the last few months,” explained the commander with a shaking voice. “Some are the children of patricians, while others are the children of common citizens and even of day laborers. None of the children was older than ten. Some of them were later found dead in the alleys, tossed aside like trash. Their throats were slit. They had been bled dry. There wasn’t a single drop of blood left inside them, and a dried toad was placed in their open mouths. Gilles de Rais used to murder children in a similar manner. He slit them open, bathed in their blood, and drank it. A strange coincidence, don’t you think?”

“My God, how awful!” exclaimed Karl. “How can a person do such a thing?”

“There are those who say Gilles de Rais wasn’t a person,” said Valentin. “Three words were written beside each body—in blood.” His rough voice echoed through the vaulted room. “Homo Deus est. Do you know them, Johann?”

Johann felt like someone had rammed a cudgel right into his stomach.

Homo Deus est . . . Man is God . . .

“Yes, I know them,” he whispered.

Valentin eyed him closely. “It would seem you know more than I thought. I was right to send for you.”

“I think very highly of Master Brander. He has been working for us as a scribe for a long while now. He is clever and well read, and it was his idea to find you,” said Wolfgang von Eisenhofen, squeezing Valentin’s good hand. “Even though he probably has his own reasons, too,” he added ominously. “He reckoned you were the only one who might be able to shed light on those horrific cases. The mood in the city is worsening by the day, and the fear is almost tangible. It feels as if we are all sitting atop a powder keg that might explode at any moment.”

“I still don’t understand what I can do for you,” said Johann. “I’m just an itinerant doctor, a stranger in Nuremberg—”

“If what your old friend says is true, you’re not just any doctor but one of the most intelligent men in the empire, and one of the shrewdest.” Eisenhofen gave him a sharp look. “And you’re a magician. Children who’ve been bled, dried toads, words written in blood . . . Clearly, we are dealing with black magic.” The commander paused, choosing his next words very carefully. “So, God help us, I fear only a magician can help us now. The city—the entire empire, even—is at stake! If word gets around that the devil is on the loose in Nuremberg, the emperor’s power might become seriously threatened. And he has his hands full holding both the French and the Turks at bay. Yes, we need magic!”

“Magic? You don’t believe that yourself,” snarled Johann, shaking his head. “I may be a scholar with unusual methods, an astrologer, healer, and chiromancer. But I’m certainly not a magician who can stand up to the devil like Archangel Michael.”

“Aren’t you calling yourself a magician?” asked Eisenhofen sharply.

Johann sighed. “Only to impress the simple folk. A commander and nobleman should really know better.”

“Well, if you prefer, I can hand you over to my knights, who will take you and your assistant to Cologne. The reward for your capture is several hundred guilders now—did you know that?”

“That’s blackmail!” Johann jumped up and slammed his fist on the table. “Has the Order of Teutonic Knights sunk this low? Blackmail?”

“Watch your tongue, Doctor!” Eisenhofen also stood up, his eyes flashing angrily. Behind the commander, Eberhart von Streithagen took a step forward, his hand on the pommel of his sword. Below the table, Little Satan growled and bared his small, sharp teeth.

“Perhaps it’s better if I speak with my friend alone for a moment,” Valentin said and raised his